


Treachery of the Kind

by Anonymous



Series: Absent Works of an Anon [3]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant for the time being, Gen, Manipulative Behavior, Might become a short series? At some point?, Morally Grey Toby Smith | Tubbo, Not a part of the "What World Have We Inherited" series — just by the same author, Toby Smith | Tubbo is Capable, Toby Smith | Tubbo is the Traitor, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, Tubbo Really Cares About Tommy, a side effect of the double (triple) agent thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes you needed sacrifices to protect the things that really mattered. The first war had taught him that. Being able to make those sacrifices didn't make him a traitor, just because they weren't in one particular side's favor. Being a traitor would mean he was betraying someone he cared about, and Tubbo would die before he let anything else happen to Tommy.OrAn idea as to how the traitor plays into the events of the festival.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Clay | Dream, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, We don't do that here my friends
Series: Absent Works of an Anon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006947
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214
Collections: Anonymous





	Treachery of the Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! 
> 
> Just as a heads up, I cannot stress enough that this is NOT a part of the “What World Have We Inherited” universe. This is a (currently, as of November 9th) a canon compliant, independent oneshot about previous events, going by the theory that Tubbo is the traitor. I also wanted to give Tubbo a more cutthroat portrayal here, so this is distinctly different from my other fics. 
> 
> I am working on WWHWI, I promise, but this little idea clawed at me for hours, and I finally edited it, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get it out there. I hope this fills the void of content for the time being, and I hope you enjoy reading it, regardless of if you’re currently waiting on the next chapter of WWHWI. 
> 
> And as always, comments, kudos, and feedback of any sort feed my tired soul. Please enjoy.

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×

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Tubbo knew that people thought he was stupid. Not all of them of course, and it wasn't like he tried particularly hard to refute the claims. But he knew they thought of him as a kid — dumb and willfully blind, the secondary character even though he was technically even older than Tommy was. That was fine. Tubbo didn't mind if they thought he was stupid. It made his job a lot easier. 

Two weeks before the festival was established, Tubbo was pulled into Schlatt's office. 

The ram-horned man turned to him with a devilish grin, pasted over his mouth like it was all he knew how to apply. He didn't like the way Schlatt's eyes focused on him with such sudden, soul-searching clarity. He had been expecting anything mundane either way, really. Another odd job, another task, hell, even another absent rambling session that would turn hours into dust under the weight of a filibuster. 

"I want you to help me take Wilbur down." 

Tubbo blinked. 

_Play dumb._

"What do you—" 

"Ah-tat-tat!" Schlatt cut him off with a wave of his hand, smile slick as oil and eyes glittering gold. He shifted and walked to his desk, plopped down without preamble and interlocked his fingers beneath his chin. 

"Don't try it, Tubbo. I know what you've been up to." 

Tubbo wasn't surprised, but he cursed himself nonetheless. He'd been pushed into too many scenarios with Tommy lately — shoved into positions where his act and his reality were forced to intersect. Usually it had been simple — _really, Wilbur thought he'd told Schlatt he was pregnant? —_ but Tommy had been too stressed. Wilbur had been pushing his friend to the very edges of his sanity, and Tubbo had to smother every impulse in his body that whispered for him to light a fucking fire. 

Because Tubbo _acted_ stupid. But he wasn't. 

Schlatt sounded dangerous, but not in an aggressive sense. His words tasted like old cigar smoke in the air instead of the roaring, all consuming flame he put on for his speeches, and he made no move to call for a guard or his sword. That was a relief in itself — try as he might, Tubbo hadn't found a way to hide effective weapons under his suit yet. Schlatt's eye had been too sharp for that. 

That same sharpness bled into the air, and Tubbo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Unsure, but not for the reasons he ought to be. 

"You do?" 

Schlatt's answering smile was sharklike. Tubbo knew the answer before he even opened his mouth. 

"How is Tommy, Tubbo?" 

Schlatt was all casual movements and blasé shrugs. He gestured to the seat that was tucked in on the other side of the desk, adjacent to Schlatt's own. Tubbo moved to it without a word of protest, shoving his hands lazily into the pockets of his slacks. He sat down, and Schlatt tilted his head, horns curled like a crown of keratin. Tubbo felt realization dawn like a physical wave, and it washed over him until he was at level pressure again. He inhaled. 

"He's alright," he said, answering mellow tones with their counter, sharp gaze locked with glittering gold; "They've seen better days, but they're alright."

At that, Schlatt laughed. He threw his head back for a bark of laughter, far too hard. It was brief and much quieter than Tubbo had learned to expect, and yet it sounded more genuine than any of his rumbling waves of forced mirth that exploded from the stage. Tubbo watched him, his own lips curling up into a ghost of a grin, more from the suddenness of the noise than a shared joke. 

"I'm sure Wilbur's a wreck," Schlatt snickered, eyes half lidded with some kind of sadistic glee. Tubbo shrugged one reluctant shoulder. It wasn't an untrue description. Schlatt sighed, almost contentedly, and Tubbo's brain spun in the search for an angle. It stuttered to a stop again when Schlatt continued. 

"Now, look," he said, all the ease of an old friend, "back to my point, yeah? Back to what I called you here for." Schlatt interlocked his fingers again, leant forward with a grin that looked like gilded silver. "And don't try your innocent bullshit. I know what you've been doing, and let me make this clear, Tubbo. I don't give a _fuck."_

He put emphasis on the final word with a glee that Tubbo might have called manic, if he were a touch more vibrant and a touch less alert. 

"I want you," Schlatt repeated emphatically, "to help me take Wilbur down." 

He put a strange emphasis on Wilbur's name, like it was the odd-man-out of an already odd sentence. Tubbo didn't insult him by clinging to pretending he had already been trying to do so.

"... You've already won the election, haven't you?" Tubbo asked, just for flavor. It was a question they both knew the answer to. 

"I want more than a _title,_ Tubbo. I don't have any use for a land with people who are constantly looking for the door." 

For the first time, Schlatt's slick grin dimmed a bit at the edges. Tubbo saw a hint of anger, simmering and deep and anything but the explosive, uncontrollable temper Schlatt had pretended to possess in public. Schlatt pulled his hands apart and tapped absently on the wood of his desk, nail meeting wood in an even rhythm. 

"And I'm supposed to help you get that." 

Tubbo's voice was terribly flat, not a question in the slightest, and something behind Schlatt's eyes shifted a bit. Shone like a reflection, like the empty eyes of a hunting cat in the dark. 

"Not for free," Schlatt chuckled, leaning back and into the leather of his chair; "no, no. I have an offer for you, Tubbo. See I like you, kid. You remind me a lot of myself, cliche as it is. So, I want to make you an offer you won't refuse." 

Tubbo interlocked his fingers and set his hands in his lap, gazed at the man who'd ripped L'Manburg from Wilbur's hands, and wondered just what he was going to say. Schlatt's answering smile was enough of a hint for him to guess, but it was always better to hear it outright. 

Schlatt talked at length, and Tubbo's gaze grew sharper and sharper with each passing word, each absent movement made with Schlatt's overzealous business proposal. 

His eyes grew wide at one particular point — one offer made in good faith. 

At the end of it all, Schlatt held out his hand. Smiled like a salesman, a businessman to his core. 

Tubbo waited exactly five seconds before he shook it.   
  


×

Putting together the festival had been an event in itself, and Tubbo would be lying if he said he wasn't at least somewhat exhausted. Running back and forth, delivering information and staring into the slightly dulled eyes of his best friend. It had nearly driven him mad, seeing the way his shoulders slumped and his hands trembled. Tommy was being forced to his limits by Wilbur's insanity, spread so thin Tubbo swore he could see his veins. Wilbur had only been growing more and more manic, lost more and more of his composure with each passing visit. It was no surprise to Tubbo when Tommy blurted out that they couldn't trust him. 

For the briefest of moments, it almost seemed like Tommy would snap. That he would finally push what remained of Wilbur to the side, tug Tubbo along by the tailored sleeve and _run_. Tubbo would have gone, Schlatt and Wilbur and stupid fucking wars be damned. He would have gone if Tommy asked seriously — would have run away with him and built a new home, with bees and cows and everything they cared about. But Tommy was loyal to a painful fault, and he snapped back to his magnetized waypoint before Tubbo could tug him away, urge him to freedom. And that was that. There was nothing more Tubbo could do. 

He resigned himself, then. He sighed and he shook his head, and he pushed himself to forcefully unsteady feet with too-wide eyes when Schlatt called his name. He saw the way Schlatt's gaze focused and they shared a look, briefer than a second, before Schlatt turned to Tommy. 

Tubbo had resorted to the pregnancy joke again, lips pulled taut as some bullshit about a child's doctor bled into the world. Schlatt picked it up and led it on, although Tubbo could see the way his smirk threatened to break through his mask. Tommy skirted away on a gifted lifeline, and Tubbo was left to deal with the scraps, a quiet rusty feeling settling in his chest. He hated lying to Tommy. He hated it. 

But some sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. _Their_ greater good. And Tommy had already made more than his share of the sacrifices, it was Tubbo's turn now. Tubbo's turn to give them a shot at happiness, to throw a dictator into the hell they created. 

The festival, when it came, was _loud._ Tubbo knew that, of course. It was planned to be loud, chaotic in all the ways that would push them forward. He walked with his head down, hands clasped together and eyes constantly flickering. Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of embellished gold, and he would turn his head just a bit to the side. Just enough to purse his lips and hide his own grin. 

Technoblade was tugged willingly into the fighting arena they'd made — set his spawn in the bed they'd provided without a care in the world. He didn't even hesitate, not for a moment, surrounded by "enemies" and in the land of the opposing side. Tubbo respected Technoblade for a lot of reasons, and that was absolutely one of them. Technoblade was a weapon in ways that Tubbo was not. The spark that lit itself whenever he won, whenever he forced a drop of blood to spill? Tubbo saw it. And it reminded him of Tommy to a degree — brash actions and reckless fights, either picked or answered. Tubbo's job had always been to bandage the wounds, drip a bit of a healing potion on the bruises and wrap Tommy's bleeding knuckles. 

(No matter how much he told Tommy he didn't need to fight for him, Tommy had always shrugged him off. 

_"They totally deserved it,"_ Tommy would sneer through a toothy grin, _"you should've seen the way they were talking about you, Tubbo. Bastards had it coming."_

And Tubbo would sigh, would shake his head and go back to wrapping up Tommy's wounds. It was futile, trying to argue with him. Tommy had always been the protective sort, no matter how much he pretended not to be.)

The festival was fun to an extent, too. It was loud and chaotic but it was fun, and when he joined in the cheers with each fight it came from his heart. The music that drifted above their heads jolted at him a little — familiar whispers behind other songs, a list supposedly chosen specifically by Schlatt himself. 

_Not Stal,_ the note he'd been given in the margins had read; _absolutely fucking anything but Stal._

(Tubbo had dutifully filled the list with music discs, careful to avoid any with a second black band after the first, but the temptation had been enough to make him hesitate.)

He snagged a couple honeyed pastries from Nikki's booth as they passed it, bit off a chunk and shoved the rest in his bag. Nikki really was the best baker he'd ever known, and she smiled cheerily at him whenever he looked at her. She bore the most of the exhaustion in her innocence, shouldered a burden that she wanted to save Tubbo from that showed in the heavy bags under her eyes. Even if it was futile, Tubbo truly appreciated the thought. 

As they walked through the decorated streets of Manburg, an odd crowd formed of new and old faces, Tubbo carefully ducked into an alleyway. It was simple, considering the only people who'd know to look for him were already in on the scheme, and the rest were busily being occupied by loud jokes and louder music. He put everything he had into a hidden chest, nestled perfectly away and out of sight. He'd need it once this was all over — his armour, his tools. And just for luck, a few of the sparkling pastries. He swept back out of the passage without anyone saying a word, and he adjusted his tie as he sidled up to everyone else. 

Eventually though, the festivities came to an end. When he was called, Tubbo walked and fiddled with his notecards, the picture of nervous energy as he scrambled to follow Schlatt up to the stage. Schlatt smiled at him, a beacon of pride, and Tubbo wondered just how many layers of acts and bits Schlatt could weave around himself before he lost his core in the tapestry. 

Schlatt tugged him to his side with an arm slung around his shoulders, and Tubbo gave his best smile to the crowd below as Schlatt tapped on the microphone. Despite their hesitations, everyone looked a bit brighter today. Their eyes glittered with the effects of good company and loud music, shimmered with the echoes of vibrant colors and the adrenaline of a good boxing match. The citizens of Manburg looked happier than they had in ages. 

Schlatt concluded his speech with a wide grin and a steady pat on Tubbo's back, and he walked with slow, hesitant steps toward the microphone. In the crowd, Nikki gave him an encouraging smile. Eret regally nodded his head, and Fundy kept his eyes trained carefully on the stage, expression neutral but open. 

_(Far in the distance, two figures were perched above them all. One clad in red and white, the other a maddened smear of coal. Tubbo hoped they were watching the show.)_

He glanced at his cards. A speech he'd written out with Schlatt by his side, lounging lazily in his chair and munching too-loudly on an apple. The ram-horned man had laughed when he read it, thumped Tubbo on the back and told him in so many words that it was perfect. Tubbo was inclined to agree, but he could admit to being a little biased. As he started his speech, gilded gold and liquified honey, he tacitly ignored the way Quackity shifted uncomfortably in his spot. He ignored the way Schlatt fiddled with a golden coin, flipping it in the air with an aura of pride that didn't quite feel as synthetic as it was probably meant to look — at least to Tubbo, anyway. He ignored the vague yellow splotches on the edges of the podium, powdery and faint. He ignored it until it wasn't feasible to do so any longer, and when Schlatt told him to continue, he did.

When he finally reached the end, Schlatt smiled at him and tilted his head, asked if there was anything else to say even though he knew damn well that there wasn't. He inwardly rolled his eyes when Schlatt repeated a parody of what he’d told him in the meeting room — he and Wilbur shared dramatic tendencies. When Tubbo said no, Schlatt's eyes turned to Technoblade. 

And right on cue, everything went perfectly to hell. 

God, Tubbo hated respawning, but he hated the cry Tommy let out even more. _  
  
_

×

One night, approximately one week after the events of the festival, Tubbo walked out into the woods. 

It wasn't an abnormal thing for him to do — no matter how much Tommy fussed, it didn't hurt him to get fresh air. He always felt a little bad when he left though, seeing the way Tommy wilted a little whenever he was left alone in Wilbur's company. And he was essentially alone — Technoblade had grown comfortable in his routine, seeking only the chaos that violence would provide. If nothing else, he knew at least Techno would be happy at the end of the day. Nikki was a blessing and Quackity was a burst of color in their bland little ravine, but they were oftentimes pulled away from Tommy, busy gathering their own supplies and training their limited combat skills. The point was, it wasn't out of the ordinary — but today, Tubbo walked farther. He walked past the river and into the trees, brushing past branches and pine until he was buried too deep to follow. 

On some days, Tubbo admitted as he walked, when he closed his eyes and pretended, it almost felt like before. Before any of it happened. Before the wars, before the disks. Before —

"Dream?" 

Tubbo broke into the clearing Schlatt had set as their meeting place, and he immediately froze. 

Schlatt was leant lazily against a tree, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was too hot for full suits now, but it was still strange to see him without it. Not that Tubbo could focus on him, because he couldn't. His eyes were drawn automatically to the second figure, the _second person_ that waited for him. A lime green cloak and hoodie, contrasted too sharply by leather straps. A blindingly bright white mask, perpetually smiling, a dual duty of protection and concealment. 

Dream inclined his head to Tubbo, tilted his hand in greeting. The fingerless gloves gloves he wore lent him an almost assassin-like quality, especially without his glittering netherite armour, and a part of him viciously envied the ability to be so effortlessly terrifying. Even so, Tubbo whirled around to focus on Schlatt, but the other man interrupted him before he could interrogate him by pushing himself off the tree. He walked to Tubbo's side, pulled a steady arm around his shoulders and chuckled as he waved toward the masked man. 

"Tubbo," Schlatt said cheerily, "say hello again to Dream, our newest… ally! Let's go with ally, huh?" 

Dream looked impassive, but then again he always had. Despite himself, Tubbo felt a bit of shock strike him when Dream said nothing to the contrary, instead tilting his covered head and setting one hand on his hip. He twirled something in his off-hand — a stick of unlit dynamite, shimmering like it was enchanted. 

"We have a lot to talk about, gentlemen," Dream said, voice level, somehow not at all blocked by the mask. Tubbo rubbed at his eyes, and gave a heavy sigh. Theatrics to the end. The same, the lot of them. 

"And you couldn't have just let me know _before_ I got here?" He grumbled. Schlatt shrugged. 

"Nah," Schlatt laughed, "it's more fun this way! You know me, Tubbo, I'm always looking for a good time." 

Schlatt moved away from him then, pulled back and stood to Tubbo's left. They formed a triangle that way, with Dream closest to the deepest parts of the forest, Schlatt closest to Manburg, and Tubbo to Pogtopia. Schlatt smiled, and Dream's mask smiled too. He clasped his hands together, all easy grins and mellowed laughter, less of a villain, more of a man. It was strange how perspective worked — Tubbo could still remember the days that he'd followed Wilbur as blindly as the rest, the days where he associated green with a dictator beyond all evils. Schlatt spoke up again. 

"Things are gonna change, and it's going to be us at the front of the fucking pack, eh? Now..." Schlatt's smile turned dangerous as he echoed his first speech, ambition licking at their heels like a roaring flame. The three of them, buried deep in a plot that would run the world to the ground. The three of them, burning with goals that they all mutually agreed to ignore. 

"Let's talk business." 

\-----

×

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**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be adding all of my works to a separate series by the way, so if you want to read my work whilst I’m anoned, check out the series tab! I’ll have a separate one for WWHWI and my works in general. <3
> 
> This oneshot was a lot of fun, so I might one day add a few extra snippets to it. I’m sure it’ll become entirely AU at some point once canon progresses if that’s the case, but I’m a sucker for odd match-ups, and this trio is an interesting one. (Maybe even Tommy could tag along, haha.)


End file.
